


Jackpot

by Eezo, primeeight



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Girl Penis, Knotting, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eezo/pseuds/Eezo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeeight/pseuds/primeeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting a war against the Reapers and navigating a dangerous romance is already difficult enough. When Commander Shepard’s constant need to help everyone suddenly includes an omega going into heat, life gets much, much harder.</p><p>Takes place during ME3</p><p>(On hold for the near future because RL)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack's Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Bioware owns everything, no copyright infringement intended.

**Jackpot** : The chief prize.

_Hit the jackpot_ (idiom, informal): To achieve a sensational success; have sudden luck.

* * *

 

 

“The 103rd is a good assignment for us. The kids will see action without getting too close. Maybe they’ll even use some of the shit I keep trying to teach them.” Jack had a more casual swagger to her step these days. She used to stalk like an animal bearing down on prey, violence and power about to be unleashed. Now there was an easier air about her, confidence and control daring anyone to get in her way. But fast or slow, militant or sauntering, she was still all predator.

It was reassuring, especially as so much about Jack was different. The Commander struggled to take in the transformed biotic as they walked through Normandy’s corridors. The clothes, the hair, the actual shit-you-not _ job_.

_All good different but still . . ._ Shepard flashed back to the moment of shock that tore through her thoughts when a familiar, taunting voice carried over the lingering echoes of gunfire at Grissom. Jack had a sound like danger, laughter, command and plea all rolled into one perfect rasp. Every word and tone that came out of her lips made the Commander want to drag her naked to the ground. After so long apart it was a miracle she didn’t.

Stupid, interfering Cerberus pricks.

“Special Forces Biotic Support Division Leader. Sounds so official,” Shepard tested out the new title, watching Jack’s lip curl slightly in distaste. “At this rate people are going to forget you used to be a criminal.”

“They do, and I’ll fucking remind their asses,” the biotic growled. Not a threatening growl; not the one that rose from low in her throat when she bared her teeth as if she wanted to rip Miranda’s face off. Shepard had learned to recognize this particular intermingling of humor and threat, to know that it was different. It was the sound of Jack feeling happy. Affection and contentment purred under the profanity, filling the Commander with her own infectious pleasure.

“How about we call you the BS Leader? Would that keep up the bad ass reputation well enough for you?” Shepard teased. Not that long ago (had it really been less than a year?) she wouldn’t have dared to make such a joke. It took months to find all the sharp edges and deadly triggers in Jack; to gradually convince the freed convict that she was safe, that she didn’t have to turn everything into a fight. Even when they started fucking (no euphemism could come close to those early sessions in the sweaty, red haze below Engineering), Shepard could feel her keeping score. Everything had been win/lose, victim/victor for Jack.

“How about I tell everyone what you scream in bed? Think you could keep up your Girl Scout routine?” The biotic arched one brow, radiating challenge with a wicked smirk. The simple taunt was enough to send Shepard’s mind reeling, full of flashes of scent and skin and relief.

“Fine, we can both be hypocrites,” the Commander surrendered, knowing better than to play a losing hand, “But only because people don’t need another reason to picture you naked.”

“Ah, c’mon, Shep. Most people _like_ what they see when I’m naked.” Jack teased, too close to the truth to recognize it until she saw Shepard stop in her tracks and turn to face her squarely.

“That is exactly what I don’t want.” The Commander could feel the muscles in her jaw twitching, clenching to hold back a thousand more words and confessions and demands that didn’t belong in this moment. Just the thought of anyone else getting to see Jack, getting to _touch_ -! A white-hot flash of emotion behind Shepard’s eyes curled her hands into fists, instinct pushing her towards an imaginary fight.

“Relax, babe, I’m taking the blockers. Alliance all get ‘em. Can’t have us fucking each other senseless in a war zone, right? Course, that worked for you and me . . .” Jack’s ornate fingers wrapped around Shepard’s wrists, pushing the anger away. The Commander’s hands slowly released, accompanying a controlled flow of breath from her lips as she fought back the primal urges.

Jealousy had taken her by surprise. It was a new experience for humanity’s first Spectre, paragon of duty and values and a hundred other virtuous bits of bullshit. She had plenty of lovers stranded in the wake of her travels, some that she’d even cared about to a degree. None of them had ever elicited the overwhelming barrage of emotion she had to deal with when she found Jack. She’d never known she could experience anything stronger than the urges to fight, survive, protect and succeed but the moment she set eyes on the rampaging biotic everything inside her started twisting into new shapes. Powerful, defiant, dangerous, irresistible . . . In Jack, she’d met her match.

Duty had always kept her on the move. Training perfected her discipline. Blockers were the final ingredient that kept instinct from overwhelming reason. None of that prepared Shepard for how she felt now. Nothing in her life could have prepared her for how she would feel about Jack.

“Sorry, Jack. I -,” there were too many words and none of them fit in the next fifteen feet of corridor before saying goodbye again, “I’ll try not to be pissed that you’re taking off with a dozen kids who probably all spank it out in their beds at night to thoughts of you.”

It was a tactical retreat, taking cover in the familiar safety of laughter with just a trace a truth. She really didn’t like the way some of the Grissom students’ eyes constantly followed their teacher. Admiration, fear and idol worship were all fine, but there were occasional glints of hunger that created a violent spike of jealousy in Shepard’s gut. They weren’t a threat; every rational part of her mind knew that. A bunch of damn kids weren’t going to take Jack away from her. Except that was precisely what they were doing right now. They’d had her for the last six months and here she was going away with them again. A faint tendril of reason eased its way across the Commander’s possessive, angry thoughts, pointing out that jealousy can be about more than sex.

“Shit, Shep, the way they’ve been looking at you? I just about warped Prangley through the hull,” the former convict’s rough chuckle was music to Shepard’s ears, and the knot of anger in her stomach finally began to unravel. Jack knew. She wouldn’t say it out loud because neither of them had figured out the exact words but Shepard could hear it in her voice. This wasn’t about sex or blockers, students or jealousy; it was so much simpler. So much more frightening.

“I hate this,” Shepard breathed, looking down and noticing that her hands had unconsciously turned to cradle Jack’s fingers. She wasn’t even sure which of her many frustrations she was complaining about. There were so many to choose from these days and the ones that didn’t revolve around saving the galaxy were tied into knots around the woman in front of her.

“Good,” Jack freed one hand and used it to force the Spectre’s eyes to meet her own, “Hate gets shit done. Get pissed, go kick this galaxy’s collective ass into gear and destroy those Reaper bastards. Then we’ll go on leave, get off these damn pills and fuck each other senseless.”

“Romantic.” Shepard rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. It was the first mention either of them had made of plans for the future. There seemed to be some silent determination between them to not make promises, to not have hopes. For every minute since they’d met, death was always just around the corner. It was too terrifying to admit the need that bound them together, as if confessing it would doom them both to being broken apart.

“You want soft and squishy? Try that Kelly 2.0 upgrade of yours, she looks the type. I only do hard and wet.” The biotic laughed, releasing hold of the Commander now that she seemed more like her sarcastic self again.

“Jack, keep talking like that and you’re never getting on the shuttle.” Shepard’s warning was only slightly less threatening when it turned to a groan. She saw a flash of wicked excitement in the tattooed woman’s eyes, teeth momentarily biting into her lip as she contemplated breaking the Commander’s control. They were already scant inches apart in the corridor, breathing close enough to taste fewer and fewer hesitations. It would be so easy. . .

“Everyone is ready, Commander,” Joker’s voice came from all sides at once and Shepard barely restrained herself from shouting a curse. She could swear that damn pilot did stuff like this on purpose. Either he was deliberately screwing with her limited love life or he was trying to be a voyeur and EDI just plain wouldn’t let him.

“Got it, Joker,” the Commander replied in a tight voice, pleased to note similar hints of irritation and disappointment in Jack’s face. Reluctantly, they both resumed the walk towards their destination. The silence between them wasn’t a comfortable contentment in being together but the weight of everything still unspoken. Without thinking, Shepard reached out. The crushing solemnity broke apart the instant she felt Jack’s hand meet her half way. Their fingers laced easily together, allowing themselves this last, simple indulgence before facing the unknown once more. They held on until they reached the Docking bay, only letting go at the last second as the doors hissed open.

“Well, Commander, thanks for the ride,” Jack casually commented as they walked into the bustling bay. It was a surprisingly official statement for Jack, no profanity or euphemisms or threats, and Shepard knew she was announcing their presence. The Grissom Academy students instantly looked up, fixing their eyes on the two women. They looked about ready to wet their pants. Shepard still wasn’t sure if that was because they were excited or terrified or a blend of both.

“Happy to help, Jack. We can do it again anytime.” The Commander gave a smart nod, acknowledging the rapt attention now trained on the two of them.

“You mean flying me and my biotic brats around?” Jack suddenly fisted Shepard’s collar, dragging her close before growling into her ear, “Or that mind-blowing fuck we just had?”

Shepard couldn’t help smiling, instinctively grabbing hold of the white bands that wrapped around Jack’s colorful skin, tugging the biotic flush against herself. No matter what else changed, she was still Jack.

“Both. Anytime,” the Commander repeated, just a little louder than necessary. She could practically feel the eyes crawling over them and a swell of pride filled her lungs. Let them watch. They got to have their piece of the stunning, dangerous biotic but they would never have this.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna want round two as soon as I get the Alliance off my ass.” Jack erased the last of her lover’s jealous concern with a bruising kiss. It wasn’t the emotional passion of their reunion in private, or the intimacy of touching hands earlier but an animal expression of ownership. Even in the noise of the docking bay, Shepard could feel the audience of students go still, and she grinned against Jack’s mouth, teeth catching her lip. One word twisted around both their tongues and it released in a silent gasp when they broke apart. _Mine._

The Commander saw an echo of her own possessive gaze in Jack’s dark eyes. The former criminal made a show of deliberately licking her lips as she reluctantly let go of Shepard’s uniform. A small resigned sigh escaped Jack’s mouth as she stepped back, but it vanished into her familiar, cynical smirk.

“I’ll see you soon, Jack,” Shepard promised, releasing her own hold on the woman and quickly folding her hands behind her back to resist changing her mind.

“Bet your ass you will,” Jack winked before turning and marching to her students. “Well? What are you waiting for, someone to come drag you around by your tits? On the shuttle, now!”

The shell-shocked biotics all reacted like they’d been electrocuted, immediately scrambling for their gear and trying to shove each other through the hatch. Shepard caught a few of them sneaking glances over their shoulders at her but they snapped their attention back to Jack when she leapt into the shuttle herself.

“Prangley, shut your mouth before someone puts a dick in it. Rodriguez, that ain’t your rifle. Sit your ass down, Bellarmine! Mother-!” The teacher barked orders at her students, barely censoring herself and falling into a long, grumbling list of insults instead. The shuttle engines started up and Jack turned around in the entrance, one hand wrapped around the railing overhead and the other resting on her cocked hip.

“Give ‘em hell, Commander,” she shouted, inciting echoing cries from all the students behind her. Jack stayed standing, eyes locked on Shepard until the hatch doors closed, sealing off the noise and the last sight of her smug, wicked smile.

 


	2. Love in Limbo

It had been weeks since the Commander last felt this war in her chest, the sigh of relief battling to slice through excited tension. What was it, twenty-three days? Twenty-seven? Shepard couldn’t measure time that way anymore, she had to count by victories and losses. Exposing Ambassador Udina’s corruption, saving the Council _again_ , curing the Genophage; no one could say she hadn’t been busy. But the cost was painful. Thane. Mordin. They died on their own terms, which was more than could be said of the millions of others who’d already been lost in this damn massacre. That didn’t change how much it hurt, how much it reminded Shepard of what she had to lose. The pain added a spike of euphoria to opening one particular message a few days ago. It quickened her steps now as she rushed across the bottom floor of Purgatory.

Shepard froze at the top of the stairs. The throbbing bass beat, flashing lights, giddy laughter, and writhing bodies on every side faded into the background as her eyes zeroed in on the only thing she wanted to see. Jack looked . . . shit, “good” wasn’t anywhere close to cutting it. The Commander hadn’t had much time to absorb the smaller details of her sometimes lover’s new look before; between fleeing Cerberus troops and frantically stripping naked in her cabin, the only change that made an impression at the time was the hairstyle.

Jack had a sixth sense for being watched, and she could never let Shepard’s eyes linger on her for long without taking it as a challenge or invitation. At least here, in the chaotic atmosphere of Purgatory, the biotic wouldn’t be so quick to notice one set of eyes taking a lingering journey from head to toe to catalogue every inch. As much as Shepard wanted to march over, slap the datapad out of Jack’s hands, and pin her to the table, she also wanted to memorize everything about her.

Her studded leather jacket suited the aggressive punk look that Jack had adopted. It was a slight downgrade from sociopathic cult killer, but that style probably didn’t sit so well with the Alliance. The white halter top that laced into place with thick straps around her ribs covered more skin than the old belt harness that Shepard remembered so fondly. Yet, somehow, this new style only drew more attention to the colorful expanse of her chest. Some people assumed that Jack chose her clothing because she didn’t care what anyone thought. They were idiots. Jack chose clothes that put her dangers on display, intimidating or tempting anyone that laid eyes on her. Her entire body was a weapon, and she dressed accordingly.

“Hey, soldier.” Jack had barely spared a glance from the datapad, but a familiar smirk tugged at the scarred corner of her mouth. Shepard was caught. She shook her head slightly, rubbing the back of her neck as she wondered if Jack had developed a seventh sense now, just for when humanity’s Spectre was nearby.

“Buy a girl a drink.” Jack kicked out an empty chair by way of invitation. The Commander took the offered seat and leaned back, unable to slow the smile stretching across her face.

Shepard wasn’t sure how she managed to focus on the light banter they fell into, eyes consuming every twitch and curl of the tattooed woman’s lips, tracing the long strands of hair that had broken free of control and fluttered on one side of her face. Jack still exuded the aura of danger, an intensity in her gaze, her posture, the very energy of her biotics; everything radiated a promise that balanced on the knife edge between pleasure and pain. It was intoxicatingly familiar and Shepard basked in it even as she listened to the contrast of Jack’s words, the grumbling about this new, responsible life not quite masking the affection beneath her resentment.

“Complain if you like,” Shepard smirked, “But I think military life suits you.”

“You just want to peel me out of an Alliance uniform, don’t you?” Jack’s eyes narrowed, challenging her to deny the temptation, daring her to give in.

“Putting the emblem and a couple stripes on a leather jacket doesn’t make it a uniform, Jack,” the Commander hedged, deliberately dragging her gaze over tattooed skin. Returning her eyes to Jack’s, she found the color infinitely darker, sparkling with smug pleasure at the silent confirmation.

“Perv,” the biotic’s lips parted slightly with a sly smile.

_Takes one to know one._ Shepard just let her own smirk grow wider. The only reason Jack knew her wandering thoughts was because the former convict’s mind had gone to the same places, probably just as often and even more creatively.

Then, without warning, she felt the tension shift; Jack’s playful seduction gave way to something serious. Shepard should’ve been expecting it. She had been, in fact, up until the moment she saw those cinnamon eyes look up at her with such delight that it wiped away her words. Since getting Jack’s message to meet, she had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times. She’d imagined every possibility, from a hostile breakup to a romantic confession, and all the vague questions in between. She’d warred within herself over and over, desperate to voice the overwhelming emotions that swelled up in her throat any time she even _thought_ of the tattooed biotic. She was terrified that if she did spill her guts, Jack would shut her down. What they had was special but it wouldn’t save the galaxy. They had to decide where their priorities lay. The Commander knew what she wanted, but it wasn’t just up to her.

In the many, many scenarios Shepard had entertained, she’d never once imagined Jack being the one to broach the subject. The former convict had always made it seem like “relationship” was a four letter word spelled f-l-e-e. But there she was, looking into the distance with a hard set to her jaw and giving Shepard an out. Offering to let her go free because they couldn’t be side by side. She’d cut her loose to save the galaxy, if that was what Shepard wanted.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” The Spectre got to her feet, taking a long stride into Jack’s space. The biotic looked up in surprise, instinctively rising to face the invasion. From inches away, Shepard could see the way desire had pooled in the other woman’s eyes. She took a deep breath, finding the familiar scent of Jack’s skin, even muted as it was by chemicals and the damned recycling Citadel air. She smelled like leather and lead, laced with a current of electricity that was more sensation than taste. Jack must have seen the flare of Shepard’s nostrils because the reluctant frown melted from her face, surrendering to a pleased smirk as the soldier reached out and drew her close.

“God, you make the best mistakes.” Jack breathed the words against Shepard right before their lips met. Jack’s luxurious mouth moved against hers, and a soft moan came from one of them, reveling in the relief of contact. Shepard explored the familiar but lost pleasures of Jack’s lips; the unique contours of the scar that graced the upper right corner, the cleverness of her tongue teasing into the kiss, the scrape of teeth immediately soothed by caresses. Shepard’s heart was pounding loud and hard in her ears, timed with the racing beat of the music around them and her fingers ached to tear into clothing, to explore the heat and shivers of tattooed flesh beneath her hands. Instead, she forced herself to let go, swallowing down the urges that would push this moment from romantic to obscene. Not that Jack looked like she’d object; her eyes were nearly black, lips parted by ragged breath before she found her voice.

“Alright, Shepard. No strings. But if we get out of this alive . . .” The promise dangled in the air, echoed in the grip of hands that hadn’t stopped clutching N7 uniform sleeves.

Strings. Right, no strings. Except one. One pretty big fucking string that they hadn’t talked about yet, not even when they had the chance after the Grissom rescue. They were both too damn angry at Cerberus and happy to see each other only to be tortured by yet another imminent separation. Clearly, now wasn’t the time either. Shepard put on her best cocky grin and wrapped a hand around Jack’s wrist, tugging her towards the dance floor.

The biotic laughed and protested but fell easily into the rhythm of the music, flowing around the beats like water. The Commander could watch her dance for hours. Much as everyone liked to make fun of the Spectre’s total lack of dancing ability, they forgot one key point: she was on the dance floor for a close up show. When Jack twisted into her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and writhed like a charmed snake, Shepard was reminded that any humiliation was worth it.

They only pretended to dance a little longer, until Jack slid her other arm around Shepard’s shoulders and was all but using her body as a human stripper pole. Shepard caught Jack by the waist, and snaked both arms around the tattooed woman to pull her close. The biotic laced one hand into her hair, scraping nails deliciously across her scalp, and sent goosebumps straight down her spine.

“When are you going to take me into the bathroom and show me your _real_ moves?” The voice was a low purr in Shepard’s ear that made her eyes roll heavenwards and her hips grind forward. Jack laughed, a throaty vibration that begged to be turned into scream.

“I can’t.” The Commander, N7 Alliance Special Ops, Spectre of humanity, summoned all her discipline and forced her body still. She let go of Jack except for one arm and gently drew the other woman off the dance floor. She was too twisted in the agonies of her own conflicted desires to notice the biotic’s confused disappointment.

“Shit, Shep, what’s wrong with you? Something I said?” Jack demanded as she scoured the soldier’s face for clues. Her mouth had gone from a frustrated pout to a worried line as she saw emotion ravaging the Commander’s eyes.

_She’s so damn beautiful._ Shepard managed to suffocate the words and a groan that had threatened to spill out. Jack saw the line that marred her brow, the sign of desperately needed control being lost. Multi-colored fingers reached up to push the hair out of Shepard’s face, forcing her to meet the searching gaze, demanding answers.

They had to talk about it. There was no other choice. She wanted Jack desperately, the way sand trippers craved a fix. Her body was starting to hurt from the denial of everything it needed but she couldn’t give in. Not until she and Jack both really knew what this— _they—_ meant.

“There’s a string, Jack. A hell of a string.” Shepard finally shook her head, fear and determination mingling in her words as her gaze fell to a familiar spot on the biotic’s neck. It took a practiced eye to see the mark amidst all that ink, but she knew what to look for.

“We thought we were going to die, Shepard.” Jack swallowed down her own knot of nerves, turning slightly away so the bite mark was hidden. Doubt was creeping into her eyes, hesitation in the line of her mouth.

“I never thought that for a second. Not so long as I had you,” Shepard’s hand stroked along the other woman’s jaw, guiding her face back, “And if you didn’t mean it then, it would have faded by now.”

“For all you know, that’s just some fancy new ink. Maybe I liked the look.” The fight was back in Jack’s eyes, a cocked eyebrow happily defying the Commander’s logic. It wasn’t much of a challenge when they both knew the truth, but Shepard loved the way Jack made her earn every shred of surrender.

“Maybe. But tattoos don’t feel like this.” Shepard dragged her thumb deliberately across the mark, feeling the jagged indentations of healed scarring, and watched Jack’s eyes flutter closed at the intimate touch and all it meant.

“Fuck you, Girl Scout. That’s not fair.” The protest came out on shaking breath, a growl trying desperately not to be a moan. Shepard laughed, using her free hand to find Jack’s, and lifted it to her own neck. She unfastened her military collar and pushed the material aside, guiding Jack’s fingers to the matching scar. A thumb and fingers traced reverently over the healed bite, relishing each livid mark that had made Shepard hers. The touch made both of them shiver.

The exact moment was a vivid memory: stars racing by as nothing but distortions, clothing removed with awe and tenderness instead of animal passion, every move and taste and ripple of pleasure savored and transformed into an invisible wall that kept reality at bay. It had been a sudden, unspoken, consuming need to tether to each other before fate swept them away; simultaneously confessing the strength and depth of their bond in an ache of lips and teeth and the taste of salt mingling with copper.

Shepard shuddered, dragging herself away from the memory assaulting her senses. Jack didn’t look any better, teeth biting into her lower lip and hand shaking against the Spectre’s skin as she fought her own internal wars. The Commander covered those trembling fingers with her own and squeezed.

“Think we should get out of here?” Her throat was so choked with desire that her voice broke as she tried to form the words. She sounded like a damn pubescent boy cracking at the sight of his first porn vid.

The strained hitch only made Jack shiver, eyes closing tight as she nodded violently.

“Fuck yeah.” The biotic finally found her voice, a broken, rasping tone that absolutely begged to be taken away. Taken to bed. Dammit, just _taken._

ooo.oo0.o00.000.00O.0OO.OOO.OO0.O00.000.00o.0oo.ooo.

Jack fixed Shepard with a feral look as she backed the Spectre into the driver's seat of the skycar. The soldier barely had time to swing her legs in before the biotic lowered onto her lap. Caging Shepard’s hips between her knees, Jack clenched fistfuls of her uniform jacket in dangerous fingers and kissed with desperation.

Quickly forgetting what she was supposed to be doing, Shepard poured everything she wanted to say to Jack into the press of her lips and the deliberate slide of her palms up the biotic's sides. She was greedy for the tiny growls bubbling up in Jack's chest. She wanted—no, _needed—_ to feel more. She slipped her hands beneath the biotic's jacket and traced the edges of her broad-strapped halter. Just as her fingers began their exploratory creep towards the window baring colorful cleavage, Shepard was pinned against the car seat with a biotic nudge. Threads of blue energy licked up Jack’s wrists and forearms.

"What's the fucking hold up, Girl Scout? We got places to be." The biotic made a threatening rumble and ducked her head to bite Shepard's neck, right beneath the scar that never faded.

Groaning with desire and frustration, Shepard scrambled to make a witty retort. All that came out was a wanting sound. She struggled to pull the car door closed as Jack distracted her with lips and teeth and tongue. The windshield UI activated once the door was shut, and Shepard reached around the biotic to grip the throttle in one hand and disengage the magnetic coupling with the other. She could hardly keep her eyelids from fluttering shut as Jack outlined the column of her throat with sharp nips. She peered over the biotic’s shoulder to key in their destination and toggle the autopilot controls.

As the skycar pulled away from the dock and merged into traffic, Shepard was infinitely grateful that the vehicle could pilot itself, leaving her to devote her full attention to the biotic writhing on her lap. She slid her hands down the back of Jack's pants—what amounted to a pair of tight, camouflage chaps—and breathed in the warm, metallic scent of her skin. She gasped as her fingertips made contact with a narrow band of elastic. "When did you start wearing underwear?" She hooked her fingers in what could only be a thong and paused to enjoy the husky, pleased sound on Jack’s tongue. 

"Didn't want a bunch of teens drooling over my camel toe all day." Jack reached back and covered the soldier's hands with her own, urging Shepard on. The arch of her spine put her breasts temptingly close to the Shepard’s face, nipples almost visible beneath the gauzy material strapped across her chest.

Shepard kissed the exposed parts while squeezing Jack’s ass and tugged until there was no distance between the biotic’s center and her abdomen. She could feel the heat of her even through two layers of clothing, and it made Shepard’s head swim. Jack grunted before reclaiming the Commander’s lips in a crushing kiss and ground against her.

Death- and hate-marked hands tangled in the soldier's hair, sometimes pulling, sometimes stroking, but never still. Shepard let the biotic dictate the pace and ferocity of the kiss, willingly changing the angle or approach whenever the press of her fingertips became remotely insistent. The pace and pressure of Jack’s kisses and rolling hips intensified, her breath coming in whimpers.

Shepard’s hips were coaxed into their own frantic rhythm, desperate for friction. She slouched, trying to push Jack’s core flush with her own with a grip on the biotic’s ass.

A purred laugh tumbled from Jack’s kiss-swollen lips, and she retaliated for Shepard’s attempt at control by grabbing the soldier’s hand and guiding it to the front of her pants. But the skycar was gliding to a stop at the docking bay port.

Jack sneered, all teeth and promise, and untangled herself from the embrace. With serpentine grace, the biotic opened the door and got out of the car.

Shepard let out a tremulous breath before checking herself in the visor mirror. Dark lipstick marked her mouth and neck like war paint, and her hair was aggressively tousled.

"You coming or what?"

Wiping her mouth, the Commander stepped out of the car. She used both hands to smooth her hair into order. Grinning, she straightened her jacket and shut the car door. "I hope I will be real soon."

"Fuck you," Jack pushed at Shepard's shoulder even though mirth glittered in her dark eyes.

Shepard snagged Jack’s hand and threaded their fingers together. The pearl of burden she carried in her chest hadn't felt this light in a long time. "I'm trying, but you keep on talking."

Snarling, Jack yanked her down the corridor to the elevator.

The Spectre swallowed; though they always arrived promptly, the Citadel elevators took longer to move between floors than it took a hanar to list off all their names, and if the fire in Jack’s eyes was indicative of anything, it was that Shepard was in for it. When the elevator doors opened, Jack backed Shepard inside.

“Jack.” It was part warning, part plea, but Shepard let the biotic trap her against the wall all the same. Part of her felt like she should examine why she relinquished control to the former convict so easily, but more of her was thrilled that Jack seemed to want this as much as she did. She groped for the right button on the wall panel as the biotic leaned in for a kiss.

Even with the Jack’s body flush against her own, Shepard still had to remind herself that this was real, that Jack was actually here under her roving hands and seeking mouth. She wondered how she’d ever borne the distance before.

The sound of their labored breathing and hungry kisses layered over the awful alien muzak, but before her mind could wander too far, Jack was cupping her face between warm palms. The biotic's fingers slithered through her hair and scratched at her scalp, and they kissed and kissed until Shepard's knees sagged.

Jack was relentless, and slipping her arms around Shepard's torso, she reversed their positions. Shepard caught her breath and braced her hands against the wall as Jack hooked a leg around her hip. With one hand on Shepard's ass and the other gripping the back of her neck, the biotic held her in place and hitched her hips until they could collide with the front of Shepard's pants. The contact pulled a sonorous moan from them both into the space between their lips.

Shepard couldn't believe what they were doing, couldn't believe how much she wanted to fuck Jack right there on the floor of the elevator, and tried to summon the words to put distance between them. But Jack was panting in her ear, and she was stuck between rocking hips and what would have been a hard place if not for her blockers. Instead, she felt wet arousal building between her legs.

“Fuck, Shepard. No one’s ever gotten me going this fast before.” Jack leaned back only far enough to force Shepard's hand down the front of her pants and beneath the simple thong.

Shepard surrendered to her mate's insistence—how could she resist?—but Jack’s form-fitting wardrobe did its best to hinder her entry. Finally, she cupped the biotic’s mound. Jack was bare there except for the southern tip of the massive compass rose emblazoned on her sinuous torso, so there was nothing to stem the tide of arousal that suddenly coated Shepard’s fingertips. The soldier moaned into Jack's mouth and stroked with one finger until the biotic’s slick lips parted, and then she was there, touching the swollen tip of Jack’s clit.

"Fuck!" Jack bucked, her head hitting the elevator wall. She tightened her arms around Shepard, drawing her in as closely as possible.

Whispering into Jack’s mouth and in between kisses, Shepard couldn’t contain her murmured syllables of encouragement.

Jack's leg slipped up to curl around the Commander’s waist, offering and opening herself, and Shepard felt her finger drawn in with no effort or resistance. Jack immediately tightened around her, and Shepard could tell she was close, could practically smell it in the hot, muggy space between their bodies.

The elevator dinged, and the doors hissed open.

“Completely surprised: pardon me, humans.”

Shepard sprang back from Jack with a strangled shout. 

The elcor continued, “Apologetically: I will get the next one.”

Jack slapped a glyph on the wall panel, and the doors slid closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length between chapter postings wasn't supposed to take this long, but I (primeeight) went back to a full-time muggle job. The adjustment's been a bitch. Anyhoot, let us know what you thought of the chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Understand A/B/O already? Great, that will kick into play very soon!  
> Otherwise, if you're new to this splinter 'verse, find more information here:  
> http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega
> 
> Each writer's omegaverse is unique, the differences and non-traditional elements at play here will be gradually revealed.


End file.
